


Daddy Peter

by CrowsandCooks



Series: Daddy Peter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Braeden, BAMF Peter, Female Gerard Argent, First Day of School, Fluff, Gen, Kid Derek, Kid Fic, Kid Laura, Peter is a Good Dad, Peter is dramatic, kid stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsandCooks/pseuds/CrowsandCooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is a good dad, even though he kills people in his basement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary was my prompt. 
> 
> I actually wrote it.

 

The man screams and writhes in anguish, the current races and courses through his body. The Taser is removed and there is a stillness as the man tries to catch his breath, specks of blood flickers out with each pained exhale. His nose is broken, his left eye swollen and red and the entire right side of his abdomen is a deep ugly blue. His arms are tied above his head and his feet duct taped to his knees. He was not a work of beauty, but to Peter, he was an interesting sight at least.

 

"I heard," Peter says, admiring the man's build, "The more muscular you are," he places the two points into the man's leg," The more painful it is." He presses the button, “Is it true?" and the screams start again, louder than before. It makes him contemplate ripping the man's tongue out but the man is going to need it, so he bears it like a martyr. Two minutes pass and he removes the Taser again, this time asking, “Do you feel like talking now?”

 

xxx 

 

Nothing fucks up your weekend like a dead body in your basement, Peter thinks to himself. He locks the door behind him, the familiar beeps and chimes of the electronic bolt echoes in the room and, he dials his client. Well, the man was not dead yet but for situations like these, it was best to think like that. He had even decided how the man was to die. Peter was going to stab him in the stomach and let him bleed to death. It was a painful way to die but, for some reason, Peter was okay with that. And after that, it will just be the usual procedure.

 

Kate finally answers.

 

The conversation is abrupt and laced with cheerful irritation on Peter's end. The woman should consider herself so lucky that she is his favourite client (and he owes her, but such things he rather not dwell on) and she assures him she knows (in a dry tone with apathy. Peter is most under-appreciated that much is certain). After he tells her the information she wants, he asks what he must do with the 'package' (never assume, always ask)

 

"Just wrap it up for me, I'll send my brother to pick it up."

 

And with that, Kate hangs up.

 

He walks into the kitchen, trying to rub the irritation off his face like a lipstick stain on the cheek. He pours himself some coffee and exhaustion suddenly kicks in. He wants to sleep; the need is beyond any power of this lukewarm coffee in his hands. He stretches, "Might as well," He mutters to himself, tomorrow is a busy day, so much to do. He tenses, mid stretch, then relaxes,

 

“Daddy?”

 

He turns, a grin on his face at the sight that greets him and nearly makes him melt. Standing in the kitchen's doorway is his son, rubbing his eyes and clutching his black 'blankit' to his chest. He scoops him up, "It's late," he says as Derek huffs and lays his head on Peter's shoulder, "Why are you still awake?"

 

"A couldn't sleep."

 

Peter says nothing else but glances out the window. Not that it mattered; judging by the indignant look on Derek, "I'm not nervous!" the six year old huffed,

 

"Of course not, dear"

 

Peter sips his coffee and waits it out; Derek rubs his face in his neck,

 

“Maybe, a little.”

 

"It's okay to be nervous," he replies putting the mug in the sink, "Changes and all that."

 

"Laura isn't."

 

"Of course she is, she's just being a snickerdoodle."

 

Derek eyes widen, "I'm going to make friends," he says, more to himself than Peter, "I'll be good this time." Peter rubs his face in Derek’s hair,

 

"You're going to be a snickerdoodle?"

 

Derek nods, a tired yawn against his father's neck. Peter grins, "Then I will be the Devourer and consume all who try to hurt you." he whispers earning a giggle.

 

xxx

 

Mornings are particularly painful for Peter sometimes, a weakness in himself he allows because damnit, he has a right to hate waking up. (He sure somewhere, out there, the Universe has this rule written in her book and who the fuck are you to argue with the Universe?). Morning people are the bane of his existence,

 

"Daddy!"

 

His children are the bane of his existence.

 

He cracks open an eye, trying to ignore the light that nearly smacks him back into the catatonic state he craves. "Daddy!" she snatches the pillow from him, he groaned.

 

"What, wicked harpy?"

 

Laura looks at him, very annoyed and offended, "How come Derek gets to sleep in the big bed?" she asks. There is a certain obsession of them all sleeping together his children seem to have and something tells him, they're not going to grow out of this habit. He pats himself on the back for investing in a double king size. Well worth the extra expense. He glances at the boy beside him, still sleeping, looking so content and oblivious that Peter is tempted to push him off. (He really does not handle mornings well.) Instead he shakes him gentle, waking him up,

"Next time you can both sleep with me" he states, too tired to explain as Derek crawls out of the bed. Laura gives him a 'you better' look before he shoos her away, "Go get ready".

 

He is still drowsy when they come down the stairs, a toothbrush in mouth and a cup of coffee in his hand. Laura grins while Derek plays with the hem of his shirt; Peter spits in the sink and drains the coffee. It leaves a nasty taste in his mouth and it must be evident on his face the way his kids point at him and giggle.

 

"Are you ready?" he asks, dragging his hand through his hair. He tries to ignore the worry that he knows will plague him once he drops his two precious little monsters to school. They nod, their confidence is obvious the way they beam at him. He can't help but grin back in return. "Off we go then!"

 

Laura insists that she does not need him to follow her to class (he does anyway) because she is a big girl now (seven isn't that big). It doesn't stop him from placing kisses on her face and calling her his precious little pepperpot in the doorway. She huffed in fake annoyance but he caught the grin on her face when she looked away.

 

Derek is less willing to leave his clutches but manages anyway. He glances around the classroom, eight to thirteen (fifteen) children in the class. Some are reading while others play with each other but in the corner, there is a little boy with a buzz cut playing by himself with a stuffed wolf. Derek takes a deep breath (dramatic as always, darling) and walks towards the kid. Peter watches in amusement, the boy looks up in surprise and Derek sits beside him. They talk, what about? Lord only knows, the kid flails and judging the way his mouth moves is very excited while Derek smiles and actually replies back with what Peter thinks is more than one worded sentences. He clutches at his chest, is this what shock is like?

 

It was like witnessing the birth of a god.

 

xxx 

 

The drive home is filled with manly parental angst, "My babies are growing up!" he doesn't know if the tears are joy or regret. (Probably both). When he finally reaches home, he is greeted by a strange car parked in front of his house; a black Audi, at that. He smiles, hands in his pockets, walking towards the stranger leaning against the car. Their eyes meet, the man frowns,

 

"I don't like waiting, Hale."

 

Peter grins, he tightens his grip on the UC knife in his pocket, "That's good to know," he answers, "And since we're getting to know each other, who the fuck are you?" The man is startled, he unfolds his arm and Peter tenses slightly.

 

"I'm Chris, Chris Argent."

 

 

He studies the man for a moment, the features are similar enough and there aren't much people that would dare to pose as a child of Gerard. (The woman is known for a lot of things but mercy is not one of them). Peter releases his hands from his pocket, keys hanging on one finger, "Your sister never gave me a time." he replies. Chris rolls his eyes in obvious annoyance, Peter sympathises.

 

He walks pass the man, brushing against him slightly, Chris smells like cinnamon, gun powder and something else.

 

They walk in the house, silence between them, Peter hesitates before punching in the code with one hand, his back to Chris and his other hand in his pocket. The lock beeps before flashing a green light; he pushes open the door gesturing at Chris. The man raises an eyebrow but walks in through the door then down the stairs. This time it was Peter who rolled his eyes, Arrogant Argent.

 

By time he jumps down the last few steps, Chris is already standing over the bounded man with a tilt in his head. As if he was examining a work of art in need of a critique. When the man sees Chris, his body freezes and absolute fear begins to radiate from him. It makes Peter a bit jealous, really.

 

"Friend of yours?" he asks with a smile, he takes the duct tape off the work table and hands it to Chris, "Hold this for me." The other man takes it as he watches Peter reach over to unbind the man's hands,

 

"He knows what I'm capable of," is the not so cryptic reply.

 

Peter looks at the man then shakes his head; he takes the tape back from Chris and just tapes the man's wrist together despite the struggle from the taut shackles. "Must hurt" he comments, the pained look on the man's face attests to it. Once he is done, he unbinds the shackles and turns to Chris, "So...you're carrying him, right?"

 

Chris actually looks insulted by the insinuation; it is enough to make him laugh. It's even funnier, Peter muses, because it's not a joke.

 

After fifteen to twenty (eighteen) minutes of grunts and dirty looks, Chris dumps the unconscious man into the trunk of his car. He is breathing hard and sends another baleful look in Peter's direction. Peter takes this with a cheerful ease. By coincidence the man comes to and starts to struggle again, muffled screams as he tries to kick. Obviously the last straw for Chris, in one swift movement he has a handgun (glock 19 semi-automatic) at the man's head and a look of fury so fierce that even Peter nearly flinches.

 

"I will fucking kill you." he states,” I will full you with bullets and pull out your guts then watch you die." His voice is full of venom and promises. The man goes still and pale like he is looking at Death itself. "DO.NOT.FUCK.WITH.ME" Each word is punctuated like a stab in the stomach and with that said; the man quietly lies down like a plank on the floor. Chris smiles, "Good," and slams the door shut. Peter nods to himself, definitely Gerard's kid.

 

He turns to Peter, "Thanks" he says, placing the gun back from whence it came (back of pants, typical). Peter tilts his head, the gratitude seems to come more from habit than actual sincerity. He shrugs and watches the man get into the car before driving off.

 

 

The rest of the morning is spent cleaning the basement and sleeping. Some eating wiggled itself in the schedule somewhere then followed by more sleeping. Peter has never experienced such a boring day in the thirty-four years he has lived on this earth. It’s rather depressing and he’s been in a coma.

 

He lies on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring, wondering if he should take some more odd jobs from Kate. Her work wasn’t as varied as her mother's but Gerard liked sending him to different countries to nip mutiny in the bud and there was no way he could do that with his two little snickerdoodles still growing and learning.

 

He glances at the clock, time to pick up his pups, “And no call from the principal, this must be a new record.”

 

He goes to Derek’s class first; the teacher sees him at the door and calls Derek. His son greets him with a smile and with boy in tow as he runs towards Peter. “Daddy” he says, voice nervous and soft, “This is Stiles. We’re going to get married”

 

Stiles adds, “And we’re gonna invite everyone!”

 

Peter blinks. Was that not the kid from this morning? He checks the boy’s features, moles and buzz cut, yes it indeed is. He glances at Derek who is now holding the stuff black wolf, clutching it to his chest and staring at the ground. He wants to hug him; no child should be that cute. He can’t blame the Stiles kid for proposing marriage, his children are fricking adorable.

 

Peter grins and stoops down to their level. “That’s all well and good,” he says. “But you haven’t asked my permission. It’s only polite, don’t you think?”

 

The two glance at each other and nod. Stiles steps forward, “Mr. Hale, I would like to marry Derek.”

 

Peter turns to Derek, “Do you want to marry Stiles?”

 

His son blushes and nods. Peter claps his hands, “Then it’s settled. Until further notice, you two are engaged.” Stiles jumps for joy, and Derek beams at him. “Have you told your parents?” Stiles shakes his head,

 

“I’ll tell my dad today!”

 

Peter makes a mental note and ruffles the other’s head. “You won’t be having a wedding anytime soon though kiddo.”

 

“Awwww”

 

xxx

 

Laura eyes the wolf in Derek’s arms. “What kind of engagement gift is that?” she asks, her tone is less than impressed. Peter chuckles, both of them in his arms, both their bags on his back. Derek makes a face and holds the toy tighter.

 

“Don’t be a gigglebot.” he tells her. Laura glares at him, “Well, you are!”

 

Before an argument can start, he puts them both down and opens the car. “Hop in it,” he cheers, “And you can both tell me about your day.”

 

The ride is both hilarious and worrying. Laura enjoyed her class and learning about things she never knew, her favourite part of the day was making a boy named Jackson cry for making a girl named Erica cry. (How she never got in trouble goes beyond Peter’s understanding but he decides not to ask, deniability is important after all) Then she spent the rest of recess with Erica and another girl named Lydia planning world domination. “Lydia is really smart,” Laura states, “She’s learning to read Latin.” Peter is impressed but Laura isn’t meant for world domination. (She’ll get bored halfway through the planning process.)

 

Derek is a little less worrying. He learnt new words and things about history; he punched a boy called Ethan for teasing Stiles. (Peter nearly crashes the car, how are they not standing in the Principal’s Office?) “I punched him in the tummy,” Derek tells him, “but not hard enough to leave a bruwise.”

 

Peter stops the car in the middle of the road, he is too proud and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s not supposed to be. But he tells them anyway that he is. “What story do you want for being such good kids?” he asks.

 

“The Devourer and the Snickerdoodles!” they answer in unison.

 

Peter sighs, “Of course.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an old story, not sure how old. Probably last year summer. I had planned to do a multichapter fic with it but...yeah. The first chapter is enough to stand alone though, so maybe one day I'll write it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it


	2. Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an ordinary random Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a separate thing but decided not to. 
> 
> *slithers back into hole*

Peter puts his snickerdoodles first.

 

Always.

 

Peter is very blunt about it and it has cost him quite a few clients when he was still a freelancer. Then again it may have been the fact that he _had_ disemboweled one of his clients in the past. (in his defense they insinuated that they could hurt his kids rather than just paying him so totes not his fault.)

 

Peter cleans his nails with the tip of his UC rampage and frowns. He needs to sharpen it, he wonders when was the last time he sharpened any of his knives. He hasn’t used them in a while since the move, between Derek and Laura going to school and extracting information, he has really been behind on his knife maintenance. (His guns are in perfect condition though, the needy shits)

 

Kind of his fault but not really.

 

“I mean, I don't even use my knives for extracting” he whines defensively at the blade. It's not his fault that torturing with knives has become the norm thus mundane. Peter can not stand the mundane thus he had to become more creative (it’s a good attitude for work but terrible for those at the receiving end). He doesn’t do any intimidation jobs like he used where he needed to slit arteries of dangerous bodyguards or cut the fingers and tongues of mutinous undermen.  

 

The point of his knife says nothing but Peter can feel the judgement. He sighs and gently eases Derek off his lap. He puts his sleeping son’s head on a cushion and gets up from the couch. Derek tightens his grip on the wolf toy, he tends to interchange cuddling with it or his black blanket. It’s a meticulous system which impresses Peter at the mere consistency alone.

 

He’s still tempted to make clothes for the wolf out of the blanket, just to end it.

 

Laura looks up from her sketch paper, her face has splashes of paint, most likely a causality from creating her current masterpiece. There's dried paint on the wooden floor and a small puddle of water that would sure to stain.

 

“What you making?” He asks, stooping to look at the mixture of colourful swirls and streaks. She grins,

 

“Ahbstract!” she declares happily, she has been experimenting with painting styles of late. Last week it was minimalist. Peter has to admit, world domination or not, Lydia and Erica were good influences on Laura. She yanks the paper up to show him and the paper hit her chest in the rush. She peels it off and frowns, he can see the frustrated pout forming. He gently takes it from her.

 

“Wow!” he cries out. “Look at that!” She looks at him, the pout is disappearing into a look of expectation. He continues, “I really feel the raw emotion. Is it hunger?” She giggles and nods.

 

“My hunger for pie”

 

“Not the eternal hunger for world conquer?”

 

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Too boring” she states, Peter nods  (he so called it). But she looks happy that her artwork is appreciated (how he could not? This was the magnificent creation of his pepperpot) He considers putting it up in the basement, something to cheer up his potential prisoners during breaks. But then he remembers that blood can splurt far and his kids are not allowed in the basement. Knowing Laura, she would want it somewhere **she** could see it as well (arrogant pup).

 

“When it dries we can hang it in the living room” he suggests. She nods in agreement, she looks extremely pleased with the suggestion. They put it to dry on the kitchen table and she turns to him,

 

“What were you going to go do?”

 

His snickerdoodles were always insightful things.

 

“I’m going to sharpen my knives” he tells her. She frowns at that statement but then grins. He raises an eyebrow, but the grin remains. She clutches at his shirt, he sighs, “Would you like to help?”

 

She nods rapidly.

 

“Alright, go get my knives and you can help”

 

She runs off to get his black knife roll, he doesn’t fear her hurting herself. The knife roll is always tied tight and though it is somewhere they can reach, his little monsters may be curious, they were also very obedient (he adores them for that).

 

Then again, there is  nothing to be curious about, really.

 

He goes into the basement and opens one of the draws lined against the wall. He has a lot of sharpening stones. But he is in no mood to scrub his driveway with one so he takes up what he assumes is the flattest one. He holds it up to his eye level to verify and takes it.

 

Laura meets him on the back porch, with the roll on the ground and a yawning Derek by her side. Peter raised an eyebrow, she huffed.

 

“He woke up by himself”

 

Judging by Derek’s side-eye, that was a lie. But Derek isn’t glaring at nothing so Peter summarizes that it wasn’t completely unappreciated. Peter stops and unknots the thick roll. All of his knives with the exception of his UC Rampage and ZM1014-CP (because that is his favourite and hardly not always on him. He calls it Zoomie) are accounted for. Thirty-two knives to be in exact and Peter is not pleased at the thought of having to sharpen all these knives. (Why does he need so many damn knives? He doesn’t “hunt” anymore) Laura pats his back,

 

“Don’t worry, Daddy” she comforts. “When me and Derek is bigger, we’ll sharpen them for you” She turns to Derek, “Right, Derek?” Derek doesn’t miss a beat and nods in reply.

 

Peter shouldn’t be so happy at the mere thought of shoving this responsibility unto his children. But they offered so…

 

He sends Laura to get some water to wet the stone and Derek sits on the ground with his wolf in his lap. He’s glaring at nothing and rubbing his cheek hard. Peter takes up the biggest blade, a simple 12 (12.25) inch machete and studies the edge.

 

“What’s wrong, Der?” he asks, the edge wasn’t in too bad a shape. He gives Derek some time and Derek rubs his neck (if he keeps it up, he won’t have any skin left).

 

“You’re not going away again, are you?” the six-year old asks, nails digging into the toy. Peter blinks. “I don’t want you to” and he can see the tears brimming from where he’s sitting. Peter smiles and pushes the tools and knives away from him. He opens his arms and Derek crawls into his lap.

 

“I’m not leaving” Peter tells him, he wipes the tears and kisses his son his cheek. “The Devourer never leaves the Snickerdoodles, remember?”

 

“You promise?” but it’s not Derek who asks. He turns to see Laura with the cup of water in her hand (how long was she standing there?), her eyes are shiny and she’s biting her bottom lip. (Derek rubs like he has hay fever, Laura bits her lip like it’s a soother)

 

Peter nods and she drops the water and wraps her arms around his neck. She’s not sobbing but he can feel her body trembling. Peter sighs again,

 

“Didn’t I tell you that I won't hunt any more? Not until you've gone to college?”

 

They snuggle closer to him and nod against him.

 

“Everyone breaks promises,” Laura mutters. Her tone was soft but solemn. He wonders which books she’s been reading for such a grave tone. Peter hums in reply.

 

That doesn’t make the statement any less true. But Peter would not break such a promise. He cut a lot of throats to ensure that (twenty-six to be exact).

 

He is impressed though. For some one as impulsive Laura, she can be cunning. He wants to commend her but he feels this is something you bring up years from now when you're reminiscing with your children while bonding over typical bonding stuff like listening to them complain as they sharpen your knives.  

 

xxx

 

Peter spends the rest of the afternoon comforting and soothing his pups. When night comes, he bathes them and send them off to bed. They come into his room to “check up" on him then _somehow_ fell asleep **coincidentally** on his bed (he comes in, from his own bath, and finds them under the covers.)

 

But he's not ready for bed so he goes downstairs and sharpens his precious Zoomie.

 

He sits on the couch, yawning and testing the sharpness of the edge against his thumbnail. His knife roll is tied tight and back on the dusty shelf whence it came. (He should really dust). He considers whether or not, he needs to have in writing that he should be buried with Zoomie or a verbal declaration is enough when in the silence of the night, his business phone rings. He glances at it and for a moment (six rings) he considers flinging it out the window.

 

He answers it instead.

 

“Hale, I need a favour” the voice is clip and blunt (pleasant as always).

 

Peter smiles, he doesn't do favours. He makes sure to inform Chris of that. (Because Gerard knows Peter does nothing for free. He owes Kate so she gets a discount).

 

The man snorts but agrees to pay whatever the price is. Peter cheerfully asks, “What can I do for you?”

 

“ I need you to hunt a deer”

 

Peter blinks. He pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it. He puts it back to his ear and laughs, “ You’re kidding, right?”

 

He doesn't hunt (anymore). Peter is not a hunter (anymore). And though Peter isn't a hunter (anymore), he can refer Chris to a very good one.

 

“For a price, of course”

 

“Is he good?”

 

“She's the best”

 

She's also very expensive. Even more expensive than Peter would think he would be if he was ‘hypothetically’ (still) a hunter. But the Argents are rich and Peter really doesn't care. He waits for a response, watching the black steel flick open with the mere press of a button.

 

“When can I meet her?”

 

xxx

 

“Hale” Braeden purrs in the phone. Peter is brushing Laura’s hair while she and Derek are brushing their teeth, both in their fluffy bath robes, their faces scrunched up as they brush with fever.

 

“Braeden” he replies as he puts the black thick hair in a neat bun. “My favourite gun fanatic” he teases earning a chuckle.  Laura spits in the sink and grins at him in the mirror, mouth covered in white foam. He makes a kissy face at her and she giggles. Derek stares at Laura’s hairstyle then at his father expectantly.

 

Peter sighs and proceeds to brush his son’s hair.

 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” He hears muffled sobbing in the background but she doesn't sound annoyed at his intrusion so he continues.

 

“I recommended you for a job” he states. Derek’s hair isn't as long as Laura’s but it’s enough to create a decent bun. Derek admires the style and smiles. They gurgle their kiddie mouthwash and spit into the sink. He shoos them out the bathroom and they run off to put on their clothes. “ I don't know the details but the client can afford your exuberant prices”

 

“I charge what my skills are worth” she answers smoothly.“Since when did you become a concierge?”

 

“It's my boss’s kid”

 

“And you're charging him for this little recommendation” she adds. Peter doesn't need to confirm. She knows him, she laughs, “Sure.”

 

“Great”

 

“So how have you been?” she asks, “ Remember, one bullet”. He hears the spin of a revolver before it's snapped in place ( S&W 629 Classic .44 magnum revolver) and the click of the trigger being pulled.

 

No shot fires.

 

“I'm fine. Bored but fine” he replies, he stretches his neck.

 

“ Well you did retire from hunting” she reminds him. (As if he could forget.)

 

“I couldn't raise my kids and hunt” he retorts. That _was_ the original plan but he really couldn't handle it and it had pissed him off. (He's Peter fucking Hale, what can he not handle?....Other than that)

 

“And rather than deny it” _As you’re prone to do went_ unsaid _._ ”You accepted it and made changes” She tells him. “ How are they?"

 

“My snickerdoodles are enjoying school and making friends.” The trigger clicks again and the sobbing becomes louder. “Derek got engaged and Laura is best friends with an aspiring artist and our future new world leader” (potential future new world leader, children were prone to changing their minds)

 

“No calls from the principal?”

 

“None” (so far)

 

“Aw” she cooes. “That's so good to hear.” Another click but no shots. “You made the right decision.”

 

“Yes, yes” he rolls his eyes but it's still nice to hear. Because as much as he loves being a parent, he’s scared of fucking them up. He shares this with Braeden and she laughs at him.

 

“That’s normal” another click but no shots. “ All parents fear that..even though you’re raising them among civilians” he can hear her lips curl in disgust.  

 

“I know! They’re so happy here though” he whispers ( He’s whining, he accepts this. He’s allowed to). The gun clicks again but no shots and the sobbing is now just dry heaves. “They’re having so much fun. Derek is talking in sentences, Braeden, actual sentences”

 

“See I tol-” she pauses then hisses. “he passed out” Peter snorts,

 

“Cop out”

 

“Completely.” she sighs. “I didn’t even put a bullet in” He snickers. She continues, “It’s going to be fine, Peter. You’re a good dad and if you ever need help, you know I’m here for you”

 

“Daddy!” the annoyed tone of Laura makes him look to see his children standing. Both making an exasperated face at him, it is beyond precious and it makes him coo . He chuckles.

 

“I have to go”

 

He gestures at the phone, “You guys want to say hi to Auntie Braeden before we leave?”

 

Derek nods and reaches for the phone, he gives it to him. Laura gives him a suspicious look, as if asking why he felt the need to even ask, and waits her turn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of things I really need to address in this universe....I promise I will in the sequel


End file.
